


Sloppy Firsts

by SomebodyOwens



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:39:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1723403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomebodyOwens/pseuds/SomebodyOwens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the offer of a messy blow job turns into sappy, schmoopy cuddles.</p>
<p>Set in a nebulous pre-Avengers time, aka before everything went to shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sloppy Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> With endless love to [sirona](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/pseuds/sirona) for cheerleading and [17pansies](http://archiveofourown.org/users/17pansies/pseuds/17%20pansies) for the beta.

The envelope sitting in Phil's inbox isn't pretending to look like official business. It's standard business size, but there are little hearts printed along one border and the arrow drawn across the front is a pretty solid clue to its origin. The rattle of the duct in his office ceiling as Phil enters guarantees it. 

Dr. Hamilton had handed over Phil's "Congratulations, Medical says you can resume moderate activity--by which we mean sex but we're definitely not saying that--without fear of re-injuring your ribs" paperwork a few hours before and Clint has assuredly gotten wind of the good news by now. 

After briefly contemplating whether to open the envelope now or take it home, Phil gently rips open the flap and shakes out the collection of small cards within. They are all pale blue card-stock and roughly business card sized. Each contains a bit of lewdness in Clint's familiar scrawl. "Blow job" "Restraint" "Office quickie" and "lingerie" are all sitting face-up on the desk. Phil's brain is immediately filled with the image of Clint wrapped in dark lace, leaning back against Phil's desk, hands bound behind his back and face tipped upwards in bliss as Phil leisurely mouths at Clint's straining cock. Phil licks his lips and thumbs through the other, equally inspiring, cards. 

It's easy to weigh the merits of packing it in or staying at work. Thanks to his injuries, he's pretty well caught up with paperwork and there are no missions that need his eyes at all. Also, it's 8pm. Phil slides the cards back into the envelope and texts Clint on his way out. "Got your letter. Headed home now. Join me?" 

He's nearly to the parking deck when his phone buzzes with a text from Clint. "Be there in an hour!"

Phil busies himself with the sort of nothing tasks that seem to add up even when he's not at home. He empties the dishwasher, straightens the living room, and is nearly finished folding laundry when he hears Clint's key rattling in the door. He sets the last shirt in the stack and tucks the pile into his drawer, then heads to the kitchen and Clint. For a moment, Phil just grins at him. "Hi."

"I hear you got the good news paperwork."

Phil nods. "All clear. I assume your notes are related?"

It's Clint's turn to grin. "Yup. Just a way to celebrate your all-clear with something a little extra fun for you."

"Fun for both of us, right?"

Clint rolls his eyes. "Yeah yeah. But of the two of us, you're the only one who hasn't had an orgasm in weeks."

"And the libido killing tag-team of cracked ribs, stomach wound, and hallucinogenic drugs had nothing to do with that. I can't possibly imagine why I wasn't interested in sex."

Clint winces. "Sorry. I thought-- never mind."

Phil huffs a sigh and curls his arms around Clint. After a moment, Clint returns the hug. "That was dickish of me. The cards are awesome. And I'm 100% ready to be having sex with you again. Maybe not wildly physical sex just yet, but we can shelve that for a few weeks."

Clint nods, but keeps his head pressed into Phil's neck as he mouths at the bare skin above Phil's collar. 

"Tell me what you had planned? I'm definitely still _up_ for it." Phil punctuates his statement with a little hip thrust which, as intended, startles a snort out of Clint. 

"The cards are just supposed to be a starting point. Something that sounds good to you, however you want to interpret it. Kinda like sex dice?"

"Mmm." Phil thinks for a moment, but it doesn't take long. "I know what I want." He untangles one arm to grab the envelope from the counter, dump the cards out, and shuffle through until he finds the one marked "Blow job," which he hands to Clint ceremoniously. 

Clint takes the card and flips it between his fingers. "How do you want it? Want to fuck my face? Long and slow?" 

Phil leans in for a kiss, then pulls back to say, "Wet and messy." He takes a breath. "I want my dick to be drenched and your face dripping and your lips swollen and shiny."

Clint's eyebrows shoot up and he narrows his eyes. "I'm on to you, Phil Coulson. No fair pitching my fantasy when this is supposed to be about what _you_ want."

"I'm not trying to game your system, Clint."

"Which is why you, Mr. Fastidious, Mr. Condoms are great because they make cleanup easier, Mr. If you come on my suit I will end you, suddenly want the world's sloppiest blow job. Which just happens to be a thing for me."

"I'm pretty sure I've killed the mood already so look. This was neither the first nor the last time that someone is going to try to pry information out of me. But I spent 24 hours tied to a chair and pumped so full of drugs that nothing seemed real. I couldn't tell where I stopped and the room began. It took a while to get that out of my system. My hands and feet melted into the furniture for at least a week after I got back. I couldn't trust my own senses and even though I'm totally fine, it's taken longer than it should to regain that trust." He waves away Clint's concern. "Medically, I really am a-ok. You saw the paperwork. I'm just rattled."

"Forgive me for being dense but how exactly does that correlate to you all of a sudden wanting messy blow jobs?"

Phil tugs Clint to the couch and sits down heavily. "I miss you. And I like the idea of something that's messy and imperfect because then I'll know it's real." Phil pulls a disgusted face and tips his head back against the couch. "Ugh. I'm not even making sense to me. Forget it; don't let me drag you down. Just-- never mind. Want to see if there's a new episode of _Dog Cops_ on?"

The couch shifts and Phil opens his eyes to find Clint looming over him, forehead crinkled and lips set. "Phillip J. Coulson. Whatever you need or want, I'm game. Messy blow jobs? Can do. If you really want to watch _Dog Cops_ , I can do that too. Now pay attention because this part is important: I love you." The sentiment may be old but the words are new, and Phil can see Clint's smile freeze as he waits for a reaction. He reaches a hand up to tug Clint closer and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. 

"I love you too. I'm sorry I--" he waves a hand to encompass the last few mortifying minutes. "I'm sorry. And I love you."

Clint shifts until he's kneeling over Phil, gently pressing himself to Phil so they touch along thighs and at foreheads. He cups his hands around Phil head and gently strokes a finger along Phil's eyebrows, then traces around his eye socket. Phil smiles softly. Clint drags his thumbs down Phil's face, pressing kisses at each corner of his mouth and the tip of his nose. 

"Hi." He sits back and settles his weight more comfortably in Phil's lap. Phil's body takes notice and Clint rolls his hips in response. "And hello to you too."

Phil slides his hands down Clint's back and tugs his shirt from where it is tucked into his pants until he can finally press his cool hands to Clint's warm skin. Clint shivers and leans closer. They trade quiet kisses while trailing hands over shoulders, tracing tendons, kissing mostly-faded bruises. Outside, twilight is shifting into night and the apartment is quiet but for the muffled city noise and the shush of rustling fabric. The sluggishly rotating ceiling fan just barely stirs the air.

Clint unbuttons Phil's shirt and kisses each bit of skin revealed, carefully keeping his weight pressing down rather than against Phil's ribs. Once his hands reach Phil's waist, he sits back. "Want to keep doing this here? Or move to the bedroom?"

Phil has to clear his throat before he can speak. "Bedroom, please. Bed would be good."

Clint rolls sideways, then tugs at Phil's hand. As Phil stands, Clint kisses the back of his hand. It should be ridiculous; Phil feels a blush stirring at his cheeks. He ducks his head, but isn't fast enough to avoid Clint, who responds by turning Phil's hand and lacing their fingers together. Carefully, he presses kisses to Phil's palm and tiny nips to each fingertip. Phil melts even more when Clint adds a lingering kiss to the pulse thumping in Phil's wrist and presses his face into their entwined fingers. 

Phil curls his free arm around Clint and pulls him close. They stand mashed inelegantly together, both half hard and content to share the same space and breath the same air. A telltale prickle starts in Phil's nose and his eyes burn. He blinks hard then murmurs against Clint's jaw. "I love you. I love you I love you I love you." Clint crossed the threshold, and now Phil can't stop saying it. Finally he steps back and nudges Clint down the hall. "Bedroom?"

Clint sheds his clothes much faster than Phil, and rather than batting Phil's hands away from his struggle with cuff buttons, Clint collects each piece that Phil has discarded, tossing socks into the hamper and hanging up pants and belt. When he turns back, Phil is gloriously nude with only a nearly-healed slice above his hip and the faint remains of bruises along his ribs to allude to his ordeal. He's also fully erect, one hand curled loosely around the base of his cock.

Clint gives Phil an appreciative once over, then steps forward and rocks their erections together, letting out a gasp as he does. Phil writhes against him to feel the slide of Clint's warm skin against his own. They stand that way, tasting whatever skin is easily reachable, hips thrusting occasionally. Slowly, Clint's breathy sighs coalesce into words. "You're here. This is real. Focus on me. My touch. This is real." Phil chokes wetly and shudders against Clint.

Finally, Clint pulls back. "I believe there's a messy blow job in your future, if you're still interested."

Phil tries to snark, but all he can manage is a breathy, "Yes. Please." 

"How do you want me?"

"Always." Phil looks faintly aghast when he realizes what he's just said. Clint snorts. 

"We covered that. You have me. Always. I love you." He punctuates each sentence with a stroke along Phil's cock and Phil moans. "I was asking for your preference of position."

"I want to touch you, but I don't think I can-- I need to sit. Ah, here." Phil drapes himself against the pillows so he's propped upright, legs stretched out along the bed. Clint climbs after him, settling on his knees and arranging Phil's legs to his liking. One of Clint's arms drapes across Phil's hip as he wraps two fingers around the base of Phil's cock. The other hands traces aimless patterns up the inside Phil's thigh, patterns that raise goosebumps and elicit another shiver.

Phil runs a hand through Clint's hair, who takes that as his cue and slides his lips down Phil's cock once, then pulls back to lick him from base to tip. Phil groans and lets his eyes slip closed, focusing on the silky slide of Clint's hair between his fingers and the plush of the pillows against his back and the unbearably good-hot-wet slide of Clint's mouth on his cock. 

Phil's breathy moans and choked off words become a constant soundtrack as Clint's mouth gets sloppier, pre-come smeared across his chin. He wiggles briefly and Phil can see that Clint has one hand wrapped around his own cock, hips pumping and fingers clenched tight. Phil knows there's no way he's lasting much longer and manages to say as much. 

Clint pulls back and murmurs a cheeky, "Gimmie all you've got!" to the tip, then laps at the head before he dives back down as far as he can, humming around Phil's cock. Phil tugs weakly at Clint's hair to warn him but he stays where he is, humming his way through Phil's orgasm. 

Once Phil has stopped shuddering, Clint leans back and grabs at the sheet to wipe his face. Before he can manage it, Phil tugs him up into a bruising kiss, chasing the taste of himself in Clint's mouth. He mashes their faces together, reveling in the sloppiness. Clint's hand speeds up.

Phil can't quite form the words but he nudges at Clint until he catches on and rolls over so Phil can wrap his hand around Clint as well. Together they stroke over Clint's straining cock, and Phil finally murmurs into Clint's lips, "You're amazing. Fuck. Love you." Phil traces a finger through the wetness on Clint's face then on a whim slides his thumb between Clint's lips to press flat against his tongue. 

Clint comes with a shout, hips thrusting up and body tensing as his come splashes against Phil's chest. He collapses back against Phil's side, gasping as if the air's been kicked out of him.

Phil drags his hand through the mess on his stomach then slowly brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean. Still panting, Clint watches with hooded eyes and his cock pulses feebly between them. He waves his hand in the air between them. "You've killed me with sex. You got the blow job and I still came harder than I have in ages." 

They pant together in the warm air until Phil rolls away to collect a wet washcloth. Clint flails an arm in his direction so Phil captures his hand and kisses it before crossing to the bathroom. 

In front of the mirror, Phil can see the fresh red prints from Clint's kisses across his chest. Most will fade in a few hours, but there is a cluster over his left pec that are already darkening into bruises. Phil presses his fingertips to them to feel the prickle of sensitivity, then smiles when he feels his own steadily thumping heart beneath them.

Phil gives himself a cursory wipe-down, and then heads back to Clint's side. Clint hasn't moved, so Phil alternates gentles swipes of the cloth with tiny kisses across Clint's forehead and then all the way down his body. Phil takes a brief detour to leave a bruise of his own over Clint's heart, and Clint just murmurs his approval. 

Damp skin suddenly cool, Phil decides they are clean enough, tosses the washcloth towards the laundry basket and settles on the bed. He nudges at Clint and tugs at the sheet until Clint finally gets the right idea and wiggles up the bed so Phil can pull the sheet and blanket over them both. The weight of the soft sheet and cotton blanket provides more comfort than warmth, so Phil shuffles until he's spooned up behind Clint. Clint tangles their legs together with a happy sigh. 

When Phil curls his arm over Clint's shoulder, Clint captures his hand immediately and presses it to his chest so Phil can feel Clint's heart thumping under his palm. They stay that way, breathing into the darkness and floating on the edge of sleep. Phil has nearly dozed off when Clint's voice breaks the silence. "I love you and this is real." Finally, it sounds more like an affirmation than a reassurance. Phil hums his agreement into the warm skin of Clint's neck. 

"I love you and this is real."


End file.
